


No Decisive Victory

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M, Mediterranean villa, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: Will stood by the window, looking out over the gem-blue sea and the bone-white houses cascading in stairstep fashion down the side of the cliff.





	No Decisive Victory

Will stood by the window, looking out over the gem-blue sea and the bone-white houses cascading in stairstep fashion down the side of the cliff. The view inevitably brought back memories of dark water and darker blood, and the taste of them both—salt and copper—at the back of his throat. When Hannibal stretched out lazily on their patio or appeared in the doorway with arms full of fresh produce and jars of olives and peppers in oil, Will could almost convince himself that the choice of a cliffside villa for their safehouse had been incidental. But every time he gazed down at the ocean and felt the throb of pain in his since-healed cheek and the ghost of the knife in his hand he knew better.

“You are contemplative this afternoon.” From behind him, Hannibal approached, cat-soft in the light canvas shoes he had taken to wearing. His grey hair had grown out from its prison cut in the last year and curled softly around his ears. Will had never touched it, but more and more he thought he would like to.

“Just wondering if,” Will said, and then stopped. He had grown out of the habit of making cryptic pronouncements, and as often as not these days his sentences faded out before they reached their ends. He wondered if the same thing was happening to him.

Hannibal came up next to him, gazing out the window, expression neutral as ever. When Will’s words fell Hannibal usually picked them up again, plucking them out of Will’s head as if he could see inside. He ought to be able to, Will thought; he was responsible for the shape of it, after all. 

“You said once,” Hannibal said, tone neutral as his face, “that there could be no decisive victory between us.” He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes flicking to Will in one of those microexpressions that spoke volumes, if only the viewer could tune into the right frequency. It was touch and go for Will, and he was miles ahead of anyone else.

Will nodded, just once. Waiting.

“And now?”

They had come to it, then, at long last. “I made my final move,” Will said. His body remembered: hitting the water hard as pavement. “I played my final hand.” Plunging in, lungs filling. Hands grasping for Hannibal as they sank. And then, still grasping, as they rose. “It was a losing one.” He stared out at the cloudless sky, into the blinding sun. 

Hannibal shifted. “So you feel as though you have lost the game.”

“I have lost the game.” Will took a breath. “The question is…” He ought to be brave enough to ask, by now. After everything. “The question is, do you feel as though you have won?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised, ever so slightly: taken aback, if Will was on the right frequency.

“I…do not feel particularly victorious, no.”

Will swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. He blinked, several times in a row, feeling unexpectedly bereft. He remembered the sense of resignation, that night: _I don’t know if I can save myself. Maybe that’s just fine._ But between then and now, he had begun to hope again.

“Will?” Hannibal’s expression was intent, his eyes trained on Will’s face.

“When you kill me,” Will said, “well—I’d ask you to do it quickly, but I don’t suppose either of us can pretend we really want that, now.” 

The skin around Hannibal’s temples stretched back as his eyes widened—even an ordinary human might recognize surprise on his face.

“I said I did not feel victorious. But neither do I feel that our…game must continue. In fact, I feel,” he swallowed minutely, throat constricting, “I feel very much as though I have lost, as well.”

Will turned away from the sun and the sea and the cliff and looked at Hannibal, suddenly, full in the face, something rising fast in his chest, and: “Do you mean that?”

Hannibal nodded, gaze naked.

Will, flooded with a reckless, ruthless sensation he might almost recognize as joy, if joy were something he recognized, stood still for one brief second and then raised his hand gently to Hannibal’s face and kissed his mouth.

After a speechless moment, Hannibal murmured faintly, “Even now, you never cease to surprise me, Will.”

Will kissed him again, curling his fingers through Hannibal’s soft silver hair.


End file.
